Momento Mori
by Novus Ordo Seclorum
Summary: "Because we do not know when we will die, we get to think of life as an inexhaustible well..."    Cyborg deals with life in the wake of an unexpected tragedy. Chapter 3 posted!
1. Chapter 1

**Momento Mori**

Chapter 1: Shock

"Mors venit velociter quae neminem veretur."

I never thought I would be here. Somehow I was idealistic or naïve enough to believe I would go through life without experiencing the lingering numbness that accompanies loss and sorrow. I suppose I figured I was above it all, that I was too powerful to be defeated. After all, heroes don't fail; they come through when it matters most and rescue those in need. But it was different this time. The enemy was too swift to be detected and too destructive to be contained. I was brought to my knees before I had a chance to throw a punch and now I'm sitting here with nothing but regrets and 'what-ifs' for company.

I dig my foot into the beige carpeting and gnash it around roughly, paying particular attention to the gold-trimmed floral border. The more I study it—its roses bent slightly to the right, its lilies wide, staring skyward—the deeper in thought I sink. How could I have been so blind? So stupid? How could I have neglected to look at the most obvious causes and the most direct leads? I always knew this day could come… Why wasn't I more prepared?

Shadows dance along my line of sight, spilling across the floor like ink over a canvas. My eyes pull to a group of men and women walking to a large room opposite me. Some acknowledge me with a curt nod; others pay no mind. As they enter, they are immediately greeted and received by the sizable throng gathered inside. Mingling in clusters, they speak in hushed tones; I cannot hear what they are saying, but their expressions—some smiling broadly, others weeping openly—help fill in the blanks. I look on until my interest in their conversations is outweighed by guilt and remorse, which creeps through my veins and settles like tar in the pit of my gut. For an instant, I feel sick, like the contents of my stomach are about to be strewn across the floor. Fortunately, the feeling subsides. Unfortunately, my unfocused mind is blitzed by a deluge of unbidden thoughts and recollections. I bury my head in my hands, digging my fingertips into my forehead hoping the discomfort will serve as a point of concentration. Again, it doesn't help.

Memories are funny things. Life is but a series of moments linked together in sequential order. The majority of these are too mundane to warrant recognition; so camouflaged by the commonplace that it is near impossible to distinguish one from the next. Yet, there are certain events that are so impacting and momentous that we remember everything down to the slightest detail.

In my case, this occurred a week ago. I was putting a crumb-covered, yolk-smeared plate into the sink when the phone rang. Undeterred, I turned on the tap and began drawing dishwater before I grabbed a hand-towel, patted my hands dry, and answered. I immediately recognized the voice on the other end as Raven's. She said she had something important to tell me. At the time, I thought nothing of it. I figured she was going to fill me in on how the family was doing in Africa. I was wrong.

"You may want to sit down, Victor."

Once I heard my name, I knew whatever she was about to tell me wasn't good. I braced myself against the kitchen counter, watching the steam rise from the basin like a ghost to the heavens.

"What is it, Raven?"

She drew a breath to speak, but hesitated.

"It's Gar…" Her voice quavered uncharacteristically, "He's…"

She fell silent, unable to finish. She didn't need to. I had known Raven long enough to understand her verbal cues. She was always even-keeled and rarely, if ever, flustered. Only tragedy could explain why her words would fall so heavily laden with emotion. I dropped the phone to the floor; it smashed against the linoleum, cracking the receiver. The dishwater overflowed. I sank to the floor, entirely numb. It was as though my world stood on the head of a pin and one wrong move would send everything tumbling down. For the longest time, I stared ahead at my kitchen wall, trying to make sense of it all.

It's terrible to say, but the first thing I felt after the initial shock evaporated was anger. I had a million questions and no answers. I had innumerable worst-case scenarios race through my mind and no way to disprove them. I wanted to know what happened to Beast Boy. Heroes don't simply fall. Especially not one of his caliber. Something…or someone caused his death. I paced back and forth, inconsolable. At times, I broke down; a memory would sneak up on me and my tears would freely flow. Then, a maelstrom of frustration and anger would rise within me. I punched holes in my walls and battered my fists against the floor. I wanted someone to blame. I wanted someone to suffer like I was suffering and I wanted to put all of my hurt and pain into them. For a few days, I seethed. I held on to every negative thought that crossed my mind. I guess staying angry was easier than confronting the harsh reality of it all: My best friend was gone and there was nothing I could do about it.

When Raven stopped by, my anger faded. My eyes met hers and I saw anguish roiling within them. If anyone knew what I was feeling, it was her. Without a word, she wrapped me in her arms and held me as I cried.

"I'm…so…sorry, Raven…"

"Thank you, Cyborg. I'm sorry, too. Your loss is just as great as mine."

I invited her in and she took a seat at the kitchen table as I put a kettle of water on the stove. She looked around the room—at the holes in the walls and the piles of drywall debris piled beneath them—but did not say a word.

"I didn't take it well." I said.

"That is partially my fault." She rasped. "You deserved to find out in person. I shouldn't have told you over the phone. That was distasteful of me."

"It's okay. You were halfway across the world when this happened and I'm sure you were just as upset as I was. Besides, you had Mark to think of. He comes first in all of this. It's not easy to lose a parent, especially at his age. How's he holding up, anyway?"

She glanced down at the table and ran her fingers over the wood's glossy veneer. I slid her cup of tea in front of her and took a seat.

"Not well. He hasn't spoken much to me or anyone. I think he is still in shock…"

My heart sank, anchored by the notion of a fourteen year-old left to face the world without his father, with whom he was especially close.

"Raven… I don't know if it is right for me to ask, but… what happened?"

She took a sip of her tea and placed the cup back on the table, holding it with both hands.

"At first we didn't know. Gar had been getting headaches regularly for a couple of months. At first it was maybe once a week, but they became more frequent. He always just shook them off and said 'It's nothing. I'm okay.' Around the same time, I noticed that he was sleeping more. He was tired all of the time. He would work with the villagers—digging wells, building homes, things of that sort—and he would come home and pass out on the couch. I figured maybe he was just working too hard… pushing himself too much. We're not kids anymore, after all."

I nodded in agreement, thinking of how swiftly the years had passed. It seemed like just yesterday we were the Teen Titans, fighting to protect Jump City from criminals. It was hard to believe that over twenty years had gone by since then.

"The night it happened was like any other. Gar came home looking absolutely terrible. I asked if he was okay, but he just told me not to worry. At dinner, he barely ate. After, he said he was going to lie down for a while. After an hour or so, I asked Mark to see if Gar needed anything... and that's when…"

She trailed off. She brought her cup of tea to her lips as a tear slid down her cheek and onto the table.

"The coroner's office told me that all results were inconclusive…until the bloodwork came back in. The medical examiner told me that Gar's DNA unraveled, that the amino acid chains themselves deteriorated. He said the frequent headaches were a result of his central nervous system not getting enough oxygen-rich blood and that this also led to his bouts with exhaustion. He said that Gar probably fell asleep and slipped into a coma before he died. He also mentioned that it was highly irregular for someone with a degenerative disorder not to seek immediate medical attention after experiencing chronic pain and fatigue…"

Instantly, I felt hollow. I thought that hearing the details would bring me a sense of closure. All it did, though, was make both Raven and I feel helpless. As silence settled between us like an unwelcome guest, I wondered if there was something I could have done. Maybe, had been there to catch it in time, I could have worked toward a cure or at the very least a way to abate the ill effects. As I glanced across the table at Raven, I could tell she was torturing herself in a similar manner, wondering whether she could have saved Beast Boy's life.

She stayed with me for a long while, through half a dozen cups of tea and hours of reminiscing. We talked about Beast Boy and about life. We laughed from time to time, recalling fond memories. At times, we choked up, on the verge of tears. Before she left, she asked if I would feel comfortable serving as a pallbearer and saying a few words at the service. I accepted without a second thought.

Now though, as I find myself sitting in a Victorian-style armchair in the foyer of the funeral parlor, it occurs to me that I have no idea how to deal with this entire situation. Everyone is out of sorts, emotionally ravaged, or hiding their pain behind a smile. Though I know what caused Beast Boy's death, I have barely begun to come to terms with the prospect of life without him. My profound sadness is rivaled only by the remnants of bitterness and resentment that I feel toward the Powers that Be. How can I hope to assuage the pain of others when I feel like an emotional vortex? How can I stand before so many as a pillar of strength when I can't even bring myself to approach the casket? Part of me wants to turn tail and run, but I know that people are counting on me to be reliable and composed. To honor Beast Boy and the promise I made to Raven, I must stay. For the first time in my life, I must look death square in the face and declare that I have no fear. For the first time in my life, I must acknowledge my own mortality to make sense of a tragedy.

_A/N: Hello everyone. I'm back for the moment. I felt compelled to write this piece for cathartic purposes. I have been going through some personal stuff lately and I suppose that is where this comes from. I plan on this story being short, maybe two to three more chapters, each about this length. Normally, I would make this a one-shot, but since I am working seven days a week, keeping the chapters short helps me stay focused and motivated, so I hope that no one minds too much. As this is my first published piece in about six months (and the first set in story format in about eight to ten months) honest and candid feedback is welcomed and appreciated. Thanks, as always, for reading!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Momento Mori**

Chapter 2: Echoes from the Past

"Of joys departed, not to return, how painful the remembrance"

I get up from my seat, smooth my hands over my suit, and start down the hallway opposite the main room. A familiar feeling creeps into me. Soon, it is as though pins and needles are coursing through my veins. My mind becomes a veritable hornet's nest of anxious thought. Minutes seem to protract; they feel interminable and it takes all I can muster to hold myself together. I know I don't have much longer until I have to address the crowd and say something uplifting about one of the worst things I have experienced. Worse yet, feeling the way I do—wanting it over with for my own sake—makes me feel even worse, like I am dishonoring Beast Boy by harboring such selfish thoughts.

I thrust my hands in my pockets and continue down the hall until I come to a bay window. There are fresh-cut flowers in a vase on the sill and a window-seat in front of it. The view outside, of the parlor's neatly tailored gardens, brings me a sense of calm. A granite fountain babbles gently, surrounded by semicircles of pansies, impatients, and lily-of-the-valley. A few meticulously trimmed Japanese maples and a corkscrew willow around the border of the garden serve as natural barriers. For the briefest of moments, the morose haze clouding my mind melts away. As my eyes rest on the beauty spread out before me, my mind wanders unencumbered, guided by grief. It isn't long before I'm lost in recollection once more.

Fifteen years ago, after Slade was defeated and Jump was enjoying its lowest rate of crime on record, Robin's hard stance against romantic pursuits eroded. He zealously pursued a relationship with Starfire and, eventually, Beast Boy and Raven began seeing each other. The chemistry between both couples was undeniable. After a few months, Beast Boy and Raven were married in a small, private ceremony. Though it wasn't the grand, lavish affair people envision when they think of matrimony, it remains one of my fondest memories and one of the most satisfying nights of my life. We simply enjoyed each other's company, celebrated the love Beast Boy and Raven shared, and reminisced, laughing all the while when we considered how far we'd come.

After the honeymoon, things were pretty much the same, the only noticeable change being Beast Boy and Raven sharing a room. Things went on that way for a while. Crime was virtually non-existent and any threat that arose was quickly quashed. We were older, stronger, and knew each other's strengths and weaknesses through and through. We operated as one finely tuned mechanism and were arguably the most cohesive team outside of the Justice League and the Avengers. Once Mark was born, however, priorities understandably changed. Training sessions were scaled back, and when they were held, only four members were able to attend at a time; the fifth was left to babysit. Sleep also became a luxury, particularly during the first six months or so. Often, we trudged through the day on only a few hours of sleep. Still, we were doing well enough to get the job done, and the joy of having Mark around outweighed our individual sacrifices. That is, until the night that everything changed altogether.

We received a call about a bank heist. Few other details were provided. All we knew was that an alarm had been tripped at the Jump City National Bank. Without pause, we went into action, except for Starfire, whose turn it was to stay behind. Beast Boy and Raven took to the sky while Robin and I sped downtown in the T-Car. When we arrived at the bank, we caught Dr. Light red-handed, piling bags of cash in a heap in the street. As soon as he caught sight of us, his face, already pale and gaunt, grew ashen. He dropped the last two bags and unholstered a weapon. He held it with both hands, but still he trembled. Breathlessly he spoke, tripping on every word.

"D-don't c-come an-any c-closer!"

"Relax, Dr. Light." Robin said calmly, "Just give yourself up and come quietly. Don't make this any harder than it has to be."

The unstable villain shook his head to and fro, weighing the options. It looked like he was wrestling with himself, unsure of what course of action to take.

"How do I know you won't trick me and set that **witch** on me? You Titans have always tried to get rid of me." He raised his long, crooked finger and pointed skyward at Raven, who was standing on a disc of dark energy, "Especially her…loathsome creature…"

I could see Beast Boy's body tense up, every muscle primed and burning for action, poised to strike. It took all he had to hold back.

"We wouldn't do that." Robin replied reassuringly, "We don't want this to get violent if it can be avoided."

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, NO!" Dr. Light's voice cracked sharply, sounding remarkably like Morse Code. He wambled from side to side like a crazed animal, "YOU'RE A LIAR! A FUCKING **LIAR!** As SOON as I turn my back, you'll let THAT WITCH tear me to ribbons. I WON'T HAVE IT!"

Before I could stop him, Beast Boy was off. He'd changed into a cheetah and charged at the mad doctor, who instinctively swung to the ready and fired. Beast Boy dodged the first two shots, but the third hit him in the shoulder and sent him reeling. In a flash, Dr. Light turned the gun on Robin and I, who narrowly escaped the blasts of light energy intended for us. Raven raised a shield in front of Beast Boy to buy us some time as she used her free hand to seize a mailbox, and extirpate it from the curbside. Before she had a chance to do anything more, Dr. Light caught sight of her, raised his weapon, and fired. He hit Raven in the side and she dropped to the ground.

In a flurry, Robin drew two bird-a-rangs from his belt and chucked them at Dr. Light. The first caught him in the wrist and the second tore through the barrel of his gun. Unarmed, he stood clutching his hand, a look of distant dejection spreading across his face.

"Cyborg, check Beast Boy. I'm going to go see if Raven is alright."

I turned in the direction Beast Boy had fallen, but he was not there. It wasn't until I heard an inhuman, guttural roar that my heart sank. I whirled around in time to see the Beast lift Dr. Light off of the ground and pummel him repeatedly into the asphalt. It pinned him down and hovered above him, snapping and snarling, beads of drool dripping from its jowls and onto the petrified face of its quarry.

"BB, just chill man… Just calm down…"

My words didn't reach him. The Beast raised its paw, its claws yearning for a taste of the man who incurred its ire.

"Don't make me do it, man! C'mon!"

I grabbed hold of the nearest thing I could—a light pole—tore it from the ground, and in a salient movement, hit the Beast in the temple as hard as I could. It howled, froze, staggered a few steps, and dropped. Within moments, the massive creature disappeared, leaving an unconscious Beast Boy in its stead.

Dr. Light rocked back and forth in a fetal position, tears and blood trickling down his face. He offered no resistance. Raven, though singed by the attack, was otherwise okay. Beast Boy, however, sustained burns to his shoulder and a concussion. Raven minimized his wounds by healing him, but the greatest damage was already done… I just didn't realize it at the time…

Once he could remember who the President was, Beast Boy asked me if I wanted to join him for a walk around the island. He said he needed some fresh air and normalcy; he'd been cooped up for days and everyone—particularly Raven and Starfire—had been treating him with kid gloves. I, of course, accepted.

I met up with him in the front foyer of the Tower. He looked fine…if one ignored the deep purple bruise that ran from his temple to just below his eye. Encircled by a greenish-brown border and accented by splotches of dark blue and crimson red, it was one of the most god-awful looking injuries I had seen in a while. Still, he smiled wide and together we walked out the front door.

He was quiet at first. He took long, deep breaths, filling his lungs with the salty ocean air. Gulls soared above us, their vocalizations coarse and grating, yet familiar and comforting all the same. We walked side by side as waves lapped at the ragged, rocky coast and receded from whence they came.

"Thank you…" He spoke softly. His characteristic enthusiasm overtaken by what I perceived to be sarcasm.

"For what? The souvenir I left on your face? Anytime, man. I'd say it's an improvement."

He laughed and so did I.

"That is my new secret weapon, you know." He continued, barely able to catch his breath, "I'll just force the bad guys to look at it. I bet they'll lose their lunch."

After a minute or so, our laughter died down and faded. It was quiet again. Beast Boy's smile washed away and he looked at me earnestly, his eyes filled with solemnity.

"Seriously though, Cy… Thanks. I mean it. I lost it in the battle with Dr. Light and I put all of you in danger..."

"All's well that ends well, right? Don't worry about it. It happens to the best of us…"

"I can't though, that's what I'm saying. I couldn't help myself when he said those things about Raven. I snapped. That **can't** happen."

I shrugged it off.

"BB, it was a one time thing. It's not a big deal…"

He stopped in his tracks.

"DAMMIT, LISTEN TO ME!" His fists were clenched. A vein jutted from his neck. His eyes welled up, shimmering with unshed tears. I held my tongue. "Cy, don't make excuses for me. I risked everything and everybody. I was reckless. I could have killed Dr. Light. If you weren't so quick, I probably would have… Worse yet, he could have killed me, or Raven, or you, or Robin…"

He shook his head and averted his eyes to the ground.

"B, you can't control everything all of the time. You're one of the strongest people I know, but nobody is perfect. What happened that night was bad, yeah, I'll give you that, but it comes with the territory. We all made it home and Dr. Light is enjoying his extended stay at the Padded Room Motel. That counts for something."

He looked at me in a way that suggested I had just made his point for him. He shook his head incredulously.

"That's fine… But what about next time? Or the time after that? Or the time after that?" He fell silent for a moment, his sentiments getting the better of him, "The world needs heroes, there is no doubt about that. The only problem is that all heroes have a number—a number of missions they run, or people they save, or times they cheat death… But the problem is that you don't know your number, so any mission could be your last. When you're fifteen or sixteen that is exciting. When you're twenty-three and a parent, it is terrifying."

Suddenly it all made sense. Everything had come together and I saw this moment for what it was: The End.

"Man, you know that we got your back. We'd never let anything happen to you or Raven. You're just a little shook up right now. After what happened, anyone would be. It'll pass. Everything'll be fine, you'll see…"

He sighed and looked to the Tower, his face devoid of all expression.

"I've been thinking about it for a while, Cy. The last battle just swayed me. I don't want Mark growing up without both of us, and I definitely don't want him to think that he comes second to anything. I've enjoyed being a Titan more than almost anything… but I have to do what it best and what is right. I have had my fun. Saving lives and celebrity status are both great … but ** nothing** is more important than my son."

I nodded silently, his words washing over me like a zephyr.

"I… I understand, man. Does Robin know?"

"I'm telling him tomorrow. I wanted you to know first."

With that, he walked on, taking in the sights and sounds. It wasn't until years later that I realized that he was saying goodbye… to his home, heroism, and a chapter of his life.

As I stand, staring out at the gardens, I wonder what it will be like to say goodbye. For Beast Boy, it seemed easy, like a natural progression, the next step forward. He didn't seem upset or ambivalent… he simply did it his own way, in a manner filled with personal meaning and thoughtful observance.

I plop down in the window-seat and begin to cry. In life, there are endings and beginnings and often they are intertwined. Beast Boy said goodbye to his life as a Titan to become a different kind of hero—a doting father. Now, I must say goodbye to him and reluctantly welcome life without him.

Curiously, though, I find myself wanting to hold on just a little bit longer…

_A/N: Thanks for all of the positive feedback thus far, everyone. I hope you found this second installation equally enjoyable!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Momento Mori**

Chapter 3: Chasing a Shadow

"The hardest thing to govern is the heart..."

For the longest while, I sit motionless, numb; unsure of what to do or how to move forward. In my time, I have experienced great sorrow and yet I still feel entirely unprepared to cope with the loss of my best friend. As I look back on years past, I am only reminded of the memories we shared, the things we'd done, and all the times we helped one another navigate the often perilous landscape of life. While these memories make me smile for an instant, once that moment has past I feel worse than before; after all, how can I know for certain that my best days aren't behind me?

As I lift my gaze from the ground, I see him from the edge of my vision: Mark. He is sitting on a wooden bench down the hall, his charcoal suit looking too big for his body. His hands are folded under his chin as he stares vacantly at the carpet, seemingly entranced by it. His shoulders slumped forward, he pays no attention to the scores of people filing passed him. Some pause for a moment, realizing who he is and what he has lost. They offer words of comfort, words of reassurance; empty platitudes to a fourteen-year old whose life has changed forever. Like his father, he is not unkind; he flashes a brief smile, nods in acknowledgement, and offers a nigh-inaudible "thank you" in response, but from where I sit I can tell he feels imprisoned, bound by obligation and social convention.

Without a second thought, I move toward him. Before I know what to say, I find myself standing beside him. I open my mouth, prepared to say something both uplifting and soothing, but silence prevails. Defeated, I thrust my hands into my jacket pockets and lean against the wall.

"Hey Mark." I barely manage.

"Hey Uncle Cy."

"How are you holding up?"

"I'm okay."

I swallow hard, hoping to drown the butterflies flitting around in my stomach.

"What brings you out here? I'm sure there are a lot of people who would like to talk to you."

"Yeah, I know. I talked to Aunt Star and Uncle Robin for a bit, but when all of these people started to show up, Mom needed them. It's okay; I kinda wanted to be alone anyways."

"I know how you feel." I remark. Losing someone you love is painful enough without the unease of hundreds of pairs of eyes fixed on you in sympathy. "I've never really cared for these things… Do you want to go for a walk? Maybe get some air?"

He turned to me with a brightness in his eyes.

"Definitely."

He stands, buttons his jacket, and together we step outside, squinting as our eyes adjust from the dim light of the funeral parlor to the radiance of the sun. We exchange a quizzical glance; neither of us entirely sure of where to go or what to do next. I gesture for him to lead on. We walk down the front steps and sidewalk to a small gazebo sitting under a canopy of silver maple trees. Neither of us speaks. The sharp clack of our footfalls against the concrete and the rustle of the leaves in the breeze fills the void. I look to Mark; he stares off, studying the buildings nearby.

"Did I ever tell you about the time your father and I got sucked into your mom's meditation mirror?" My words stir him from his reverie and his eyes pull to me. "He managed—as only he could—to irritate your mother and he went to her room to apologize; I just happened to be there to make sure he went through with it."

At that, he smiled.

"Well, we ended up getting into her room, getting sucked into her mirror, and having to endure all of these weird—but nonetheless deadly—trials to free ourselves. That was the first time I ever saw your Mom and Dad share a sincere moment together, where they weren't bickering or getting on each other's nerves. That day, they developed a newfound respect for one another and I am proud to be able to say that I was there to witness it."

"Really?" His brow furrows incredulously. "I've never seen Mom and Dad argue…or even disagree."

"Well, this was years ago… In what seemed like an instant to the rest of us, your Mom and Dad went from barely being able to be in the same room, to respecting one another, to enjoying each other's company, to liking one another, and then to falling in love. If you would have told me when I first met both of them that they would wind up getting married, I would have laughed you out of the state."

"What changed?" He asks, shifting in his seat, leaning forward.

"That's hard to say." I quickly think of a way to tell the story without revealing too much. "After your Mom's sixteenth birthday, she changed quite a bit...mainly for the better. She had greater control over her emotions and a higher tolerance for your Father's antics; I think she started seeing the sweetness behind them rather than judging them at face value."

Mark nods, a wide grin spread across his face, as though visions of Beast Boy pulling pranks on Raven are percolating through his mind. "What about Dad? How did he change?"

At that, I can't help but laugh.

"Well, I think things were a little bit different for him. For your Dad, I think the feelings were always there. I believe he always cared for her. I think the greatest factor for him was emotional maturity. There were times that…to me, anyway…he tried to hard. He wanted her to notice him and to like him, but he didn't always go about it the right way. As time went on, though, I think he started to understand that there were times that she needed her space…and times when she needed him desperately. Once he figured how to tell the difference, they became inseparable."

Silence falls between us.

"Inseparable…" He whispers, his smile fading. It is then that I realize that I may have unwittingly poured salt into an open wound. He covers his face with his hands, shielding himself from me.

"I'm sorry." I offer sliding over more closely to him. I throw an arm over his shoulders. "I… I didn't mean to…"

He breathes in and out heavily a few times attempting to hold back his tears before burying his head into my shoulder and sobbing softly.

"It's okay…It's okay…" It becomes my mantra. I say it over and over as I hold him tightly, trying to convince myself it's true. "Everything'll be alright."

As I hold him, everything within me cries out. My grief is like a river flowing over a cataract; it appears under control when, in fact, it is as unstable as the cataract itself. My human eye stings and wells with tears. It takes all of my strength to hold myself together.

"Don't worry, Uncle Cy." Mark says, his voice still trembling. "I'm fine…really. In fact, this is the first normal conversation I've had since…" He couldn't bring himself to say it. "F-for a while…"

I take a deep breath and clear my throat. "We can talk about whatever you'd like."

He bites his lower lip as his eyes narrow in concentration.

"There is something I want to talk about…" He manages. "But I want you to promise me something first…"

"Sure thing."

"No matter how upset I get…" He looks up at me, his eyes still red from crying. "Please, just stay and hear me out. Everyone—even Mom—has been walking on eggshells around me. Everyone keeps telling me how sorry they are for me and covering up how they really feel with a fake smile. I know they mean well… But if I'm going to get through this, I need to talk about it… not avoid it."

"You have my word."

"Ok…" He wipes his eyes with his shirtsleeves and nods approvingly. "Here goes. Do you think that my Dad stopped being a hero because of me?"

"What? That's crazy. What put that idea in your head?"

"Well," He draws out the word as he forms his thoughts. "It's just a feeling I get from some people, I guess. You know, they way they look at me and the way I feel when they look at me. It's like…" He falls silent, dropping his gaze to the floor.

"Like what?"

He stands and walks over to the other side of the gazebo. For a second, I wonder if he is about to leave and consider going after him, but instead, he leans against the railing and looks out at the skyline. After a minute or two, he turns back to me.

"Like…Here was my Father, Beast Boy—a remarkable superhero—and here is the untalented, ordinary son that he gave up crime-fighting for. I dunno… it's just…" He pauses and runs his fingers through his hair. "I can't help thinking that my Father gave up something he really loved too soon because I came along… That he gave up being a hero and disappointed everyone who was counting on him for someone like me…"

"Someone… like you?"

"You know…" He rolls his eyes as if the answer is obvious. "Someone normal…a nobody…"

"Don't talk like that, Mark." I say a bit more harshly than I originally intend. "Never say something like that!"

"Why? You know it's true. Everyone knows it's true. All my life I've heard stories from people all over the world about things Dad did—how he helped them, how he saved them—and all of the stories end the same way… With the sheer joy of the person remembering the event being replaced with the gut-wrenching reality that Dad was retired and I was the reason why." 

"C'mon, you know that's not true."

"Why sugarcoat it, Uncle Cy? No one wanted Dad to quit. He was great at what he did. He made a difference. He helped people. What am I? I look a bit like him, I guess but I don't have powers. I can't save the world. I'm not a hero. No matter how hard I try, I'll never be like Dad…"

I stand, walk to him, and put a hand on his shoulder.

"He never wanted you to be…"

His expression fades like footprints in the sand at high tide.

"You weren't this burden to your mother and father. You weren't some cross to bear. You were—and still are—their world. Gar especially. You'll appreciate this a bit more when you're older, but let me tell you… people's recollections of things grow particularly favorable with age. I think that people look back to a specific time and only see the good… Was your Dad a great hero? Absolutely. No question. Did he help and save a lot of people. You betcha. The real question you should ask yourself is this: Was he happy?"

Mark's face is a blank slate; he listens intently, however, taking in every word.

"W-was he?"

"At first? For sure." I continue. "When he was your age and we had just formed the team, crime-fighting was a thrill. Heroism was great fun. He was good at it and it was something that he enjoyed doing… But he had already been doing it for so long… since he was nine or ten… that by the time he was in his early twenties, he wanted to settle down. He wanted out. I think when you came along, the timing worked out just right..."

"Then why do people look at me like I am the biggest disappointment since McDonald's got rid of the McRib?"

Despite the gravity of the moment, I laugh heartily. He may not have BB's powers, but his jokes are way better.

"I think people have a very lofty notion of what being a hero is like. They think it is great—that it's easy and the perks of the job make it lucrative. All they see is the media attention, the accolades, the fans…. They only see the good things. They don't understand what it is like out of the public eye. The high-intensity training, the sleep deprivation, the loneliness, the uncertainty—not knowing if you'll come back home after the next battle. For people who only see the positives, understanding why or how someone could just give it up is difficult."

"I never thought of it that way." He admits, shaking his head. "I guess I don't even understand how Dad could just give it up… Everyone wants superpowers… Everyone wants to be special…to be admired…"

Before his waxes philosophical and gets too nostalgic, I cut him off.

"It's easy to wish things were different; people without powers wish that they were superheroes but most of their dreams are self-centered or short-term. They don't see the bigger picture. They don't understand that, if you are using your powers for the good of mankind, it isn't a fairytale. You wouldn't believe it, necessarily, but there isn't a hero out there who doesn't—at least from time to time—dream of being normal. Besides… Your Dad didn't quit; he just changed venues."

His brow furrows. "What do you mean?"

"Well," I sit down and gesture for him to join me. "Sure, Gar wasn't a Titan anymore. But a few times a year we still called on both him and your Mom to help us with missions. They were both still affiliated with the Justice League. Outside of that, your Dad did a lot of very important work in Africa. It may not have been the sort of thing that makes the front page of the paper, but ridding regions of warlords and militants and making improvements to the nation's infrastructure is no small task. Make no mistake, he saved lives everyday."

Mark smiles wide, his expression swimming with pride.

"When you put it that way…it makes a lot of sense." He shrugs his shoulders. "I guess it was easy for me to overlook it because…well, what he was doing just seemed normal to me. It was just his daily routine. Everyone was always grateful for his help…"

I nod in agreement.

"If people don't understand why Gar moved to Africa and dropped out of the public eye, then they weren't that close to him. If they suggest that you are to blame, then they REALLY didn't know him. He would have gotten very upset if someone ever said something like that to him…"

I turn to Mark, making sure I have his complete, undivided attention.

"Look, Mark," I state directly. "Your Dad wanted you to find your own path, your own place in the world. He didn't want you to follow in his footsteps. He didn't want you to constantly compare yourself to him. He just wanted you to be happy. He wanted you to have a happy childhood; the childhood he didn't get to have. Most of all, though, he didn't want you to have any doubts…"

"What about?"

"His priorities." I feel myself choking up, me emotions getting the better of me. "You were second to nothing. If something would have happened to you or your Mom, he never would have forgiven himself. You were more important to him than anything, Mark. And I know for a fact that he was proud of you"

At that, he begins to cry. He buries his face in his hands and for the first time all day—and probably since Gar's passing—he doesn't try to hold back his tears. I pull him close. Eventually, he pulls himself together and dries his eyes with his sleeve. The sun, which hid behind the clouds momentarily, reemerged. The breeze, which to that point had calmed, picks up once more; its warmth soothes us as the branches of the trees around us dance and sway in response. The world, which seemed subdued, brightens before our eyes. For the longest time, neither of us say a word.

"I'm really gonna miss him…" Mark murmurs weakly. He stares straight ahead, his eyes misty. I pull him close.

"Me too, kiddo." I reply, my voice an echo of itself. In an instant, all of the years spent with Beast Boy filter through my mind. I think of first time we met and how he helped me overcome how I felt about my cybernetic parts. I think of the night the Beast first emerged and how scared I was of losing him. I think of the silly things we did—playing videogames until 3 a.m. and holding stankball tournaments. His marriage to Raven… Mark's Birth… and on and on…

Tears come to my eyes again.

"Me too…"

_A/N: Well, this has certainly been a long time coming. I have had a difficult time getting myself motivate to write as of late; it seems every time I sit down, I can't keep myself focused. Hopefully this installment didn't seem too rushed or disjointed. Please, as always, tell me what you think. _

_Also, a big thanks goes out to Sir Alwick for this chapter. His most recent story, "All Beast Boy Wants" helped me get back in the mood to write this chapter. Go to his page and check it out!_

_Anyway, until next time, thank you for reading!_


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